some mountain
giant who had lost it in the wind last night.

"I mought hev knowed that we-uns war a-goin' ter hev this spell o'
weather by the sign o' the warpin'-bars fallin' las' night," said John
Grow, stamping off the snow as he came in from feeding his horse.

"I hope 'tain't no worse sign," said his wife. "But I misdoubts." And
she sighed heavily.

"'Tain't no sign at all," said Solomon suddenly. He could keep his
secret no longer. "'Twar me ez flung down them warpin'-bars."

For a moment they all stared at him in silent amazement.

"What fur?" demanded his father at last. "Just ter enjye sottin' 'em up
agin? I'll teach ye ter fling down warpin'-bars!"

"Waal," said the peacemaker, hesitating, "it 'peared ter me ez Uncle
Jacob Smith war toler'ble drunk,--take him all tergether,--an' ez he hed
drawed a knife, I thought that ye an' him hed 'bout quar'led enough. An'
so I flung down the warpin'-bars ter git the fuss shet up."

"Waal, sir!" exclaimed his grandmother, red with wrath. "Ez ef _my_ son
couldn't stand up agin all the Smiths that ever stepped! Ye must fling
down the warpin'-bars an' twist the spun-truck--fur Jacob Smith!"

"Look-a-hyar, Sol," said his father gruffly, "'tend ter yerself, an' yer
own quar'ls, arter this, will ye!"

Then, with a sudden humorous interpretation of the incident, he broke
into a guffaw. "I hev lived a consider'ble time in this tantalizin'
world, an' ez yit I dunno ez I hev hed any need o' Sol ter pertect
_me_."

But Sol had unburdened his mind, and felt at ease again; not the less
because he knew that but for his novel method of making peace, there
might have been something worse than a sign in the house.

AMONG THE CLIFFS

It was a critical moment. There was a stir other than that of the wind
among the pine needles and dry leaves that carpeted the ground.

The wary wild turkeys lifted their long necks with that peculiar cry of
half-doubting surprise so familiar to a sportsman, then all was still
for an instant.

The world was steeped in the noontide sunlight, the mountain air
tasted of the fresh sylvan fragrance that pervaded the forest, the
foliage blazed with the red and gold of autumn, the distant Chilhowee
heights were delicately blue.

That instant's doubt sealed the doom of one of the flock. As the turkeys
stood in momentary suspense, the sunlight gilding their bronze feathers
to a brighter sheen, there was a movement in the dense undergrowth. The